


Beautiful Prey

by Autumnspice



Category: Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: Dark, F/M, Halloween, Knifeplay, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:00:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26398297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autumnspice/pseuds/Autumnspice
Summary: When you had taken a job in the South and purchased an inexpensive home, no one warned you about things that go bump in the night.
Relationships: Clyde Logan/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

Sitting on the cold tile floor of the dark bathroom, your eyes closed despite tears streaming down your cheeks, your pounding heartbeat rushed in your ears. You bit your lower lip hard to keep from crying or whimpering, not caring that you now tasted copper..blood on the tip of your tongue. The chill on your bare thighs and scantily-clad ass didn't faze you either. 

The intermittent sounds downstairs in your plantation house kept you on edge. You knew the low price had been too good to be true for several reasons, but right now that was the least of your concerns. Someone was in your home, making themselves known as they loudly rustled about. 

Knowing you were in grave danger with little chance of escape, you decide to stay quiet and hidden as long as possible, saying a prayer to any deity that you won't be found and the panic will stop. 

After losing all sense of time in the darkness, you suddenly remember your cell phone on the bedside table across the hall. Deciding to crawl out of the bathroom without making a sound, you turn the doorknob as slowly as you can and opening it in a similar fashion to avoid detection. You don't realize you're still holding your breath until you gasp for air, eventually reaching the far side of the bed. Still on your hands and knees in the dark, the nearly full moon shining through the open bedroom window, with a gentle breeze wafting in with scents of wisteria, pine, honeysuckle and gingerlily, as your fingers wrap around the phone, gripped in your hand. 

Sounds continue downstairs as you fumble with the screen. Dialling the sheriff's office, you whisper into the phone once you find your voice. 

"I need the police. Someone is in my house." You give the dispatcher your address.

"Someone's bein' sent right now. Stay on the line till they get there."

In all honesty, you think she's crazy. Your eyes race around the room searching for a hiding spot. You could try to shimmy under the bed. The other option is the shuttered closet doors. 

Both choices are equally good and bad. Running on pure adrenaline, you quickly crawl to the open closet, phone in hand as you will the dispatcher to shut up. Crawling inside, you quickly close the door as quietly as possible and settle into the back corner in the pitch dark, hidden by long clothes on hangers. Only then do you release your breath again and attempt to relax. 

Creaking of the stairs can now be heard as your heart pounds harder, tears flowing. A silent whimper escapes your lips. 

A faint crackle and static can be heard. Your eyes open wide. Looking around in the darkness, for a brief second, you consider peeking through the crack in the door. 

Where's the sirens? There should be sirens. Why can't you hear them? 

The creaking of the steps gets louder. Heavy footfalls stop briefly before you hear several doors being pushed open one by one. 

You sit back, leaning into the wall. Too scared to cry. The blood on your tongue is becoming familiar. Your hair and cotton camisole, both drenched in sweat, stick to your body. 

It feels like an eternity and the police should be here by now. Footsteps fall louder on the old hardwood floors. Moving closer, closer. He's in your room now. The static grows louder. 

The sliver of moonglow peeking under the closet door is obscured. No more steps can be heard. The crackle is louder. 

Your heart stops as the door folds open. 

"It's all right, Stella. She's safe and sound. No need for an ambulance." 

That voice is so familiar and you breathe a sigh of relief. His massive frame blocks most of the moonlight coming through. But you can still make out a large ear and short hair under his trucker hat, and part of his face. Something bright, almost blinding, catches your attention. In his left hand is a large carbon steel chef's knife, easily 12 inches in length but dwarfed in his large hand. His other holding his service revolver. 

Realizing the danger you're in, you start whining and crying, trapped with your back against the wall again with nowhere to go. 

"Please..Sheriff? Don't do this!" 

Seeing that he'll have to drag you out himself, Clyde holsters his gun, lunging into the closet to grip your hair. 

He leans to growl in your ear "It would have been easier if you played along the first but I'm going to enjoy watching you suffer."

Death is the guaranteed outcome as you can't see far enough ahead for a silver lining. Tossed onto the mattress like a ragdoll, you know that you should fight him off but you aren't that stupid either given his size and strength compared to yours. Tears blur your vision and your nose is stuffed up. 

"Please stop.."

Clyde leans over you, not saying anything. You know he's watching, smelling you, getting off on your fear. The edge of the blade dances over your skin as you try to hold still and keep your sobbing at bay. "Don't worry your pretty little head. We got all night."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where our story begins

After drowning your tears in a half-filled bottle of Jim Beam and Coke that you didn't even like, you were over the worst of the fight with your now ex-boyfriend. He had just walked out, packing an overnight bag and said he would return tomorrow for the rest. 

Of course the asshole would leave you with a rent payment you couldn't possibly afford on your own. Only an upper level business executive like him..or a lawyer which you were not either..could afford something that expensive every month without batting an eye. 

After a refreshing nap from crying yourself to sleep, you got the idea to start browsing Craigslist for an apartment. On the first page, as they do, there's always at least one home located hundreds of miles from your given area at a price that is too good to be true. The photos were stunning as you clicked for more out of curiosity. 

Sipping your hot vanilla coffee, something subconsciously instructed you to follow your gut and email the link for further details. While waiting for a response, you decided to skim the job listings for the neighboring town. As an office assistant, your skills were fairly versatile to fit the backwoods located a couple hours' drive from New Orleans. Change in scenery was supposed to be good for the soul. Plus there was no reason why you couldn't make a living from your hobby as a baker.

The realtor said that if you felt comfortable, all paperwork could be either online or in person when you showed up. 

The rest of your day was spent sorting through belongings, deciding what you wanted to keep or toss. Lucky for you, everything fit in your car. Your ex arrived just as you were grabbing your purse to head out and hit the road. He was far from thrilled that you were over him already as you tossed him the keys and rolled your eyes, not responding to him. Leaving had been a long time coming and you felt so much lighter as the miles passed. 

The stars seemed to be aligned as there were two job openings. One for a baker and another for a doctor, which was well out of your league. 

\+ +

The plantation house and property were easy enough to find and even more stunning in person. The ad boasted six bedrooms and a carriage house on fifty acres with lush vegetation of oak, pine, bald cypress, wisteria and ginger lilies. There was also a creek that ran behind the house.

Alone in the large home your first night, nothing felt too out of the ordinary. The humidity would take some getting used to. You were too tired from driving and moving in to notice the creaks and the doors slamming shut on their own.

Surely your mind is playing tricks on you consecutive nights when you hear heavy footsteps up and down the stairs, more doors slamming, movement in the mirrors that isn't your own reflection. It's easily chalked up to the house being so old.

One evening while taking a cool shower, you had noticed something dripping down the walls that you swore looked like blood. That was the first time you had genuinely been scared beyond the goosebumps on your naked skin. However, as it only occurred the one time, it was since forgotten and blamed on a lack of sleep.

\+ +

Your introduction to the small town life was not what you had expected either. It wasn't quite the thing of stereotypical horror films but unsettling on its own.

The closest neighbors down the road were an eccentric elderly couple you weren't ready to get to know better. While you didn't have an opinion formed of him yet, she struck you as an old witch, likely dabbling in the dark arts from her first encounter, chanting nonsense in your direction.

The town itself had basic necessities. There was a general store with a gas station, diner, bakery, library, post office, and the sheriff's office.

The sheriff was a tall refrigerator of a man, with short, dark hair, and a constellation of freckles peeking out from his baseball cap. Even his ears were attractive and you didn't know why that even occurred to you. You truly didn't think men were humanly that large. The buttons on his shirt strained as if by magic to keep his muscled chest contained inside. You couldn't stop yourself from staring when he stepped inside the bakery that you were decorating for the fall season.

Reprimanding yourself for watching him a bit too long, you assumed he was married. All the attractive ones are. But there's no ring on his left hand so anything is possible.

"Hey Sugar," he replies after his own observational silence, drinking in the sight of you. "Don't see many pretty girls like you in these parts."

A warm heat washes over your face. "Thank you. I just moved in..down on Bayou Drive."

While the attention is nice from such a hot man as him, you rebuff him, not ready to get into another relationship yet.

Giving him a smile, you don't notice the eye twitch and jaw tick. 

Sheriff Logan isn't used to being told no. He intends to make sure you are aware of your mistake as he observes and plots as the days go by. Maybe he'll give you a fake citation for speeding, just to rile you and break you down. Either way, you belong to him, whether you want to or not. Clyde can make it hurt as bad as he needs to if you don't go along with his plan.


End file.
